Transitions
by Ecri
Summary: Chapter 10 is--Finally!--here! I am sorry for the delay. Thanks for reviews. I'm grateful.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I am borrowing them for my own enjoyment.

Roar: Transition by Ecri

Parched. Dry. Cracked. Hard. The Earth was turning to Dust. Soil that had been fertile and green, with all manner of growth upon it, now was sterile, brown, and dying. The island had never before–at least not since man could pass along the tale–known such a drought. A slight breeze could set the soil, now dust, flying high and far.

Hunters had to go far afield to find enough game to feed their villages. Fires were watched carefully. Lest a stray spark turn the entire island to flame.

Conor felt the weight of his responsibilities as he surveyed the land. There was some serious imbalance to cause this, and he wondered what it was. Perhaps something had been done when the Spear had turned his headhe cut off that thought angrily. He could barely remember what had happened then. What memories he did have were as if they'd happened to someone else. Dreamlike, they would solidify in moments of clarity. "you should bow with the others." He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to calm, but he was too late. Again. He saw himself, his hands around Caitlin's throat, squeezing the life out of her

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned back to the Sanctuary. He was afraid. He'd harbored a fear in himself, of himself, ever since the Spear. He was afraid of the vengeance in his heart, of the way the Spear had affected him. For surely, if the Spear could stir those feelings, that hunger for power, then those feelings must be within him. What if he lost control again? What if he couldn't find his way back? What if he caused more deaths in the name of protecting the land and striking back at the Romans? What if his thirst for vengeance blinded him to his true duty?

He felt like a failure and a sham.

Sighing, he quickened his pace. Fergus would be going out with the hunters again. They'd been out almost everyday this week, sometimes catching enough for the day, sometimes not, but never more. They'd had to begin rationing the water.

  
What more could he do? He knew the others looked to him for answers. He looked to Fergus, but neither of them had a clue how to make the rain fall. Caitlin prayed. The Druids had their own rituals to ask the land for balance. Conor wasn't sure why, but he felt the answer lay elsewhere.

His walk back to the Sanctuary was full of reminders that the land itself seemed to have turned against them. Dry, withered trees, and brown, brittle grass replaced the verdant lush hills he'd taken for granted all his life. The Sanctuary seemed less and less like a sanctuary each day.

"There y'are, lad! Are you ready for the hunt?" Fergus had gathered today's hunters by the entrance to the Sanctuary. His smile was hopeful and his great deep voice seemed to insist the hard times would be over soon, perhaps this very day. Conor smiled despite his glum mood.

"Lead the way, Fergus!" Conor fell into step with the hunters, and, together, they went in search of sustenance for their clan.

  
"What a wretched place this is!" Diana turned from Longinus in anger. "The entire island is becoming a desert!"

Longinus graced his queen with a sardonic half-smile. "Come, Diana, you know your duty to Rome. You should be glad to stay here to claim this place for your emperor." His mocking tone grated on Diana's ears.

She faced him and noticed his sly smile. "You have a plan."

Longinus stood and strode gracefully to her side. "I'm afraid that's my little secret." He left her standing there, staring after him. To him, her frustration was more delicious than the finest feast ever prepared.

Longinus expected to take full advantage of the plight of this hideous island. He had planned an expedition to the wooded area his men were sure hid Conor and his followers. The drought must have forced them to wander in search of food. They'd be less cautious, more desperate, and, undoubtedly, more afraid. The boy would soon find the weather to be the least of his problems.

Conor followed Fergus and the others on the hunt, though his heart wasn't in it. He saw nothing that would fill even the smallest belly among his people. Frustrated and demoralized, he sat heavily upon a boulder.

Fergus was beside him in a moment. "Why are you lagging back here, lad?" We're bound to find something soon; don't look so discouraged."

"Fergus, we've gone farther from home today than we ever have before. We've got to do something. We've got to find a way to end the drought!" Conor's eyes pleaded with Fergus to know what to do.

Fergus looked away. "We'll survive. We will not be defeated now, before we even begin to fight! Come, Conor." Grabbing Conor by the arm, he eased the lad upright and led him through he sadly withered woods.

Most of the day was gone when they finally spotted it. Through the trees, Conor could make out a soft spotted coat. Gesturing to Fergus, he pointed.

"A fawn," Fergus whispered in delight, "and too young to be weaned. Its ma must be nearby."

The hunters soon discovered several deer, male and female. They spread out and began the attack. Caitlin's arrows caught two of the animals before they could run. Soon they had several small and two large deer to take back to the Sanctuary. Their own bellies gurgled in anticipation of tonight's feast. Surely, some whispered, this was a good omen. Things would change.

On the way back, Fergus clapped a hand on Conor's shoulder. "You see! Next time, have a little faith."

Caitlin joined the pair. She looked into Conor's eyes as they walked and was relieved to see the weight had lifted somewhat. His eyes twinkled and danced in the sunlight, and his step had a bit more bounce to it. Caitlin was glad. She thought he worried too much.

"Conor, we've done well." She could see he was pleased they'd be able to feed everyone tonight.

"Yes, we have. I just hope we have enough to last a few days. We've no way of knowing when it will rain again." Conor was being cautious. The fear of running out of food for all of the people who had come to depend on them–on him–was always close.

Fergus clapped him on the back again. "You, Lad, have to learn to enjoy good fortune. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we hunt again!"

Conor chuckled at Fergus' exuberance. Indeed, the jubilance of the hunters was contagious. Soon the sounds of laughter, boasting, and unlikely tales sworn as truth, blended with the breezes and almost seemed to relieve the cares and doubts they'd carried with them for so long.

They were no more than a few hours from the Sanctuary, when Tully, who'd been scouting ahead a bit, came running back. "Conor! Romans!"

"How many?" Conor's hand had already gone to the hilt of his sword.

Before Tully could answer, several arrows were shot into their midst. One hit a deer carcass. The rest fell to the ground. Diving for cover, the small band readied their weapons.

Soon the clash of swords, the battle cries of brave warriors, and the sounds of falling bodies created a strange cadence of its own and made a startling contrast to the laughter that had permeated the grove only minutes earlier.

Conor quickly dispatched a Roman who had tried to take his arm off at the shoulder. Looking around for another opponent, his eyes fell on Longinus. The Roman wizard stood, a calm center to the violent storm. He glided to Conor, no weapons readily apparent.

Conor felt his heart skip a beat. He recalled their last confrontation right after Longinus had killed The Father. He recalled his rage, his need to kill Longinus. Only the fear that he would fall back into what he had become under the Spear's influence stopped him in his tracks. He wanted to avoid this. Some part of him urged him to stand and fight–to defend his people. Another part of him wanted to be punished. He had, after all, not stopped his family from being killed. He had not been able neither to save Claire, nor protect the Father. He had failed so many people.

Fergus, having taken down several Romans, happened to pause just then. Something, some instinct or some inner sense, made him look around, and he saw Conor facing Longinus. The lad stood either ready to raise his sword and fight, or to take whatever punishment the ancient Roman offered.

Fergus was no bard, but he remembered a time when bards would travel with armies to urge the warriors on to glory. Figuring he had little to lose by the experiment, Fergus continued fighting, but with a difference. He sang. Each clang of his sword forced a rhythm to his actions and his words. His voice penetrated the grove and deep into the surrounding woods. He was too bust to do more than sing, fight, and keep half an eye on Conor, ready to spring to his defense. He could recall a vow he'd made in another moment when he'd managed to save Conor, but had been too late to save another. "I'll never leave you again," he thought.

Conor heard Fergus' song. Not consciously at first, but soon his friend's strong, clear voice penetrated the fog in his brain. It soothed the pain. It lessened the blame and the guilt.

As Longinus drew to within a few feet of him, Conor raised his sword above his head and let loose a roar. Taken aback, Longinus fell to the ground, tripping as he stumbled backwards. Conor dropped his sword and began to pummel the fallen wizard, giving him neither time to stand, nor time to raise his own unearthly defenses.

Minutes passed, and then, exhausted, Conor stopped, still kneeling where he'd fallen during his attack on Longinus. Raising his arms and recovered sword aloft, Conor threw his head back and he roared again. This time the land joined in. He heard it. Fergus hard it. His friends heard it. Even Longinus seemed to hear it. As Conor stood, he felt a splash, a drop or two, then a downpour. Thunder joined in with the Roar and a deafening cacophony chased the Romans from the grove. One soldier paused long enough to help Longinus to his feet and hurry him away from the fearful sound.

Conor stood, his pose victorious. Slowly, he dropped his arms, head back, eyes closed, as the rain cascaded down his sweaty, tired, exuberant body. He welcomed the rain as it flowed from the sky back to the earth in an unending cycle of life and balance. It seemed he could feel each droplet as it raced down his arms and back to puddle at his feet as he and the and roared. He felt the water wash away his doubts, his fears, and his guilt.


	2. Decisions and Doubts

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or situations. I am making no money.

Thanks for the reviews. I hadn't planned on continuing, but you inspired me! (See how important reviews are!) This is going to be a fairly long story by the time I finish.

Roar: Decisions and Doubts

By Ecri

The centurion stood by the tent guarding his queen. His eyes and ears scanned the area for sights and sounds of threat. The fire flickered slightly in the breeze. The sun had not yet fully sunk below the horizon, so there was some feeble natural light warring with the flame for dominance. It would not succeed this night, but, with the coming dawn, it would vanquish this evening's victor.

Far off in the distance, a strange wailing could be heard. The centurion did not react except to grip his spear tighter. It seemed this island, more than any other place he'd ever visited in the Emperor's name, was full of spirits, legends, and otherworldly occurrences. At times the land itself seemed to take on a new and frightening aspect. He, and others with whom he'd spoken, longed to return to Rome and serve the Emperor in less alien territory. This night, he even longed to return to their stronghold away from this makeshift camp. 

The strange, low wail caught the centurion's attention again, but he wasn't quite certain if he'd heard or imagined it. Sounding an alarm when you weren't sure what to be alarmed about would be a quick way to end his already stunted military career. He waited, not sure if he were hoping to hear it again or not. Regardless of his own hopes, he did indeed hear it again.

Soft, low, and eerie, the sound grew slowly in small swells. A chill enveloped their small camp. A figure emerged from the woods startling the centurion and sudden fear gripped his heart. Moving so rapidly, so smoothly, it seemed to be floating, the dark, bent figure appeared to head directly for the young warrior. The strange noise repeated itself, reaching a crescendo as the–the thing–reached out a long, bony arm from beneath its dark robes. The terrified young man was sure he beheld a walking corpse. Knowing his duty was to protect his queen, but, sure, he was about to die, the centurion moved slightly to the left barring the strange creature's entrance into the tent behind him. Muttering a soft prayer and gripping the spear shaft tightly, he stood his ground.

With a shocking suddenness, the chill, the wail, and the fear vanished leaving in their wake adrenaline and confusion. Blinking, the centurion saw Longinus, the Queen's lover, standing before him. An odd, almost-smile graced the corners of the man's mouth.

"Let me pass." Longinus' voice was menacing, and unmistakably to be obeyed despite the Queen's orders not to be disturbed.

Recovering, the centurion stepped aside, snapping heels together and dropping his head in a gesture of respect and obedience. As Longinus entered the tent, the centurion wondered if he had been asleep at his post, for surely he must have been dreaming to see Longinus as such a threat. He resumed his post, as relieved to be out of Longinus' sight as he was that he had not embarrassed himself by sounding an alarm when he'd first seen Longinus.

Diana looked up as Longinus entered. "I left orders not to be disturbed."

Longinus voice was low and clear. "And what disturbs you?"

The Queen smiled, unsure, as usual, how to respond to Longinus.

Longinus seemed to glide over to her. "I have had a vision."

Surprise was evident in Diana's voice as well as in her face. "Aa vision. Howquaint. What was it?"

"Vision, dream, call it what you will. It matters not. The fact is, I know that I must destroy this land–and that prince." Longinus' eyes turned colder and more dangerous as he saw the blue-eyed, blond cause of his current suffering. He recalled their last meeting. The young boy had sworn to destroy Longinus. He seemed to disregard completely that the Roman had begged him to do just that previously, but the boy had refused. Longinus' hatred and anger–emotions that had dominated his existence for 400 years, now had a focus.

"Are you talking about Conor? I thought we had agreed! We can't hurt him. That will only turn him into a martyr. He would be much more dangerous to us then. Every barbarian on this God-forsaken island will blame us. They would unite behind him in death as they never would while he lives."

Slowly, Longinus turned to face the Roman Queen who had been his most recent lover. He stepped closer to her. "Diana, you misunderstand. Once I have destroyed this Prince Conor," he said both name and title with disdain, "there will be no one left but us. I will destroy this island..

Suppressing a shiver as Longinus brought one cold finger up to stroke her cheek, Diana smiled at him. She preferred to remain in his favor.

Battle cried, cracking whips, and the clash of metal on meal raised a cacophony that shook the very earth. Conor stood to the side with Fergus watching their band of warriors as they honed their craft. "they're getting better."

Fergus, his attention still on the mock battle before them, considered his Prince's words. "They could hardly get worse."

Conor scowled, but did not reply. He was sometimes amazed at the progress they made, and, sometimes, he felt that they'd made none at all. Before he could decide how Fergus' comments may have changed his present view, he noticed one of the combatants deliver a decidedly vicious blow upon another. The warrior on the receiving end dropped like a stone.

Conor bellowed the order to stop, and didn't wait to see if it had been obeyed. Breaking into a run, yelling the entire time, Conor rushed to aid his fallen comrade. Fergus ran just behind him.

After checking that the man, Stephen, would be all right, he turned his attention to the attacker. "Dermot, what were you doing? That blow was much more than you needed for these exercises."

Dermot, a barrel-chested, auburn-haired man, dwarfed Conor. He shook his head once or twice as if to clear it, then looked at Stephen who was being helped by Fergus and Tully. "II suppose I got caught up in the spirit of it." He looked down at Fergus. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

Fergus nodded as he rose, one hand still supporting Stephen. "That he will. Right as rain."

Conor wasn't through. "Dermot, we've told you before to watch yourself in these practices. You could have hurt him. Do you not realize your own strength?"

Dermot hung his head, hearing Conor's words, and hoping never to hear their like again. He had often been told he was too big or too rough. He'd hoped to be able to us these qualities in the conflict against the Romans, but the truth was he generally didn't need a reason for a good fight. He generally lost himself in battle, even in practice. He mumbled an apology both to Conor and to Stephen, who honestly seemed to be recovering quite quickly.

Conor ended the drill for the day and told his warriors how well they were doing. Then, after checking on Stephen one final time, he turned towards his own tent. He'd only just entered when Fergus followed.

Conor turned to face Fergus, but he didn't say anything. Sometimes the responsibility of all of this seemed more than he could bear. If it were not for Fergus, Conor believed he would have given up long ago. 

Fergus broke the silence, but carefully avoided any mention that he knew something troubled his prince. "Conor, I'm organizing a hunting party. We're in need of some food. Thought the drought seems over, it's still best to keep ourselves well supplied."

Conor nodded, and took a seat. "We'll need to trade for grain soon as well."

Fergus' practiced eye took in Conor's demeanor. The young prince was distracted, his eyes downcast. Fergus sat next to the boy. "All right. What's troubling you?"

Conor looked up, startled. He hadn't realized his mood had been so evident. "What?' He hoped to stall his friend.

"C'mon. Out with it. What's wrong?" Fergus looked Conor in the eye with the air of a man who wasn't going anywhere until he got an explanation.

Conor looked back down at the ground between his feet. When he spoke it was in a whisper. "I'm just thinking, old man."

Fergus crossed his arms in mock indignation. "Hey, now, a little less of the old man.' Now tell me."

Conor sighed. "I don't know. Dermot's behavior worries me. He seems too eager to fight sometimes."

Fergus nodded. The same thing had occurred to him. "Perhaps he'll calm down in time. There are a lot of warriors who love a good fight."

"Maybe that's it." Conor looked Fergus in the eye. "Maybe I'm not a warrior. I wasn't meant for this. Aidan was the one who was trained to lead."

Fergus cut him off. "Conor, we can't bring your brother back. Yes, he was trained to rule your father's kingdom when the time came. Maybe it's my fault for not forcing you to learn more of these skills at Aidan's side, but the fact is you're the leader now, and the truth is you're doing a decent job. You're doing your father–and me–proud."

Conor was surprised by Fergus' little speech. Truth was Fergus had tried to make Conor learn the skills of a warrior; the skills at which his brother had excelled. Conor was always running off, whether to meet Claire or to hunt, he preferred anything to long tedious days on the practice field. Odd that now he seemed to spend all of his spare time on the practice field.

"Thanks, Fergus. I appreciate that." Conor allowed himself a small, uncertain smile.

Fergus grinned. "You're welcome, lad."

Before either of them could say more, Tully called to them from just outside the tent. "Rider coming!"

Conor and Fergus raced outside. 

Tully gestured for them to follow, and as they walked, he explained. "The perimeter guards spotted him. He's alone. They think he's from the River People."

"They turned down an alliance with us." Conor looked to Fergus. "Could they have reconsidered?"

"I've never known them to reconsider anything."

They reached the cooking fired, where the guards had escorted the messenger. "Which of you is in charge?" The man asked as they approached.

"I'm Conor." Conor held out his hand in greeting.

Fergus noticed the man's slight hesitation before he clasped a hand around Conor's forearm, allowing the Prince to do the same. "I am Kevin of the River People. I was sent to ask you to return. There is talk of your Confederation of Tribes."

Conor felt hope flutter in his heart. "You plan to join, then?"

"We may. You should come and talk to Dar, our Chieftain."

As Fergus listened to the exchange, he had a vague feeling that this Kevin was being a bit too careful with his words. He wouldn't commit to anything, and while that could be because his Chieftain would have the sole right to commit his people to any Confederation, Fergus couldn't help but think that the man would be a but more enthusiastic if he truly believed in what he was saying. Then again, Fergus knew that not everyone among the River People would necessarily agree with their Chieftain's decision. Perhaps Kevin was only doing as he was told, but did not yet believe that the Confederation was the right thing. He could also be under orders. Perhaps Dar wanted only to be cautious.

Fergus also noted Conor's enthusiasm. He seemed a changed man from the introspective, doubtful youth he'd been only moments earlier. Fergus would have to keep a close eye on things.

Before long, they were riding together with the messenger towards the River Village. Kevin was in the lead. They'd kept the party small, just Tully, Caitlin, Conor, and himself. Fergus would not be left behind. Something bothered him, but he did not know what. A vague uneasy feeling rode with him, but whether he physical danger, or another setback in uniting the tribes of the island, he couldn't say. Whatever it was they rode into, it was his duty to protect the boy. He'd failed King Derek, but he would protect Prince Conor with his dying breath.

TBC


	3. Battleground

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just borrowing.

  
Thanks for the reviews.

Tranistions, Part 3:

Battleground

By Ecri

Conor continued to try to get Kevin to tell him if Dar intended to support the Confederation of Tribes. Kevin's only reply was, "Dar will tell you."

In frustrated silence, Conor followed Kevin, allowing his mind to wander. He knew he should remain alert, but his doubts were came crashing down on him. His life wasn't at all what he'd imagined. So many of the people who joined the Confederation, even some of his own people back in the Sanctuary, had expressed misgivings about following Conor. Conor was sure his father or brother would have had a much better chance at uniting the Island against the Romans than he had. They were true Warriors. Why had they been allowed to die while he lived? No matter how many times he asked that question, the answer he always found was, "Because you were not where you were supposed to be that night. Because you abandoned them." What if he was not where he was supposed to be another night? What if the Romans found the Sanctuary? What if he himself were persuaded, by more magic or by some other means, to make this a personal bid for power? What if he caused his friends to die?

"Lad, what d'ya make of that?"

  
Conor was startled by Fergus' voice right beside him. He turned to find the older man had come up alongside and was now gesturing towards the horizon. Conor turned his attention in the indicated direction and could see smoke rising in the air. There was too much smoke to be cooking fires. Alarmed, Conor shouted to Kevin. "Hurry, your village is under attack." 

Conor reached for his father's sword, but, just as he was about to spur his horse into a gallop, Kevin reached out a hand and clamped it firmly on Conor's wrist., staying the sword in its scabbard. "There is no hurry." Kevin's voice took on a hard and unforgiving edge. "The attack is over."

Conor looked to Fergus, but aside from repositioning himself so that he stood between Conor and the village, he made no reply.

"I don't understand." Conor turned his attention back to Kevin. "Your village. What's happened?"

Kevin sneered. "You can ask such a question?" Then he stood in his saddle, and, cupping his hand around his mouth, he let out a fierce battle cry. His other hand was still on Conor's arm, forcing Conor to struggle to draw his sword.

Without knowing truly where they'd come from, the small band found themselves surrounded.

  
Fergus drew and felled a man, and urged his horse around as he sensed another about to attack him from behind.

Caitlin injured three, letting arrow after arrow soar from her bow as warriors raced towards them. 

Tully pulled several off their horses with his bullwhip.

Fergus found himself in a battle frenzy, turning, fighting, and throwing punches when he was too close for swordplay. It was only when he turned towards Conor's last position that he stopped. 

Kevin had wrestled Conor off his horse. Conor had tried desperately to draw his sword, but was besieged by four men who'd come to Kevin's aid. In moments, Conor had been disarmed and forced to his knees. One of the men holding him held a sword to his throat, while another held his head up by the hair to give the swordsman more room to work.

Kevin called to Fergus and the others. "Yield, or he will die right here."

With no other options, Fergus dropped his sword. Tully and Caitlin followed his lead, fear for Conor and defiance of their captors warring in their eyes.


	4. Captive

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting.

Thanks for the reviews. Sorry this took so long!

Transition

Part 4

Captive

By Ecri

Kevin assured himself that his men held Conor, Fergus, Caitlin, and Tully securely. Once satisfied, he again cupped his hands over his mouth and signaled. Someone answered his call, and Kevin knelt on one knee so he could speak to Conor face to face. "Now, you will have to understand what you have done."

Conor opened his mouth to speak, but Kevin placed his knife against the younger man's throat. "Oh, yes, please defend yourself. I would love to present your lying tongue to my chieftain!"

Fergus struggled against the men who held him.

A few moments later, Dar, Chieftain of the River People, strolled forward, sword in hand. Fergus eyed the man warily.

"Prince Conor, son of Derek, I am Dar, Chieftain of the River People." 

Fergus could see that Dar forced himself to speak formally, though it was apparent, to Fergus at least that all he really wanted to do was take his sword and run Conor through. The thought of that was enough for Fergus to again struggle against his captors, but, at his first movement, several more men took hold of his arms, while others stood in front of him barring his way. Fergus was forced to content himself with looking over the heads of the men to keep an eye on Conor.

Conor, thought forced to kneel, struggled defiantly. "I'm Conor, son of Derek," Conor affirmed proudly, his voice clear and authoritative, sounding to Fergus just like his father. "What do you want with us?"

Fergus smiled ever so slightly at the memory of his departed sovereign, and, while Conor did not bear a striking physical resemblance to his father, Fergus could swear he saw the King in Conor's eyes and demeanor. King Derek, Fergus was sure, would be proud.

Fergus realized Conor was still asking questions and making demands. "Let them go!" Conor pointed his chin towards Fergus, Caitlin, and Tully. "They are no threat to you now!"

"Oh, don't concern yourself with your friends." He leaned close to Conor, his nose mere inches from Conor's face, and his voice a menacing whisper. "You're who I'm after. You're the one responsible."

"Responsible? For what?" Conor struggled against the men holding him, but Dar stopped him with a blow to his stomach. Conor would have doubled over from the pain and surprise of the blow had he not been held firmly. His face was red from the effort it took to draw another breath.

"Look around you, _prince_." Dar filled the word with contempt, practically spitting it at Conor. "Do you see what's become of my village? Do you see what talk of a _Confederation of Tribes_ can do?"

Realization hit Conor almost as hard as Dar had. His blue eyes softened, taking some of the pain from Dar's and reflecting it back at the irate chieftain. "Romans did this."

"Smart lad," Dar declared bitterly. "Now such bloodletting will stop!" Dar turned to face his men. "Now the Romans will know we are their allies. We will rise again!" There was a hearty cheer from those assembled.

"You're planning to deal with the Romans?" Conor dared not believe what he had heard.

Dar laughed at the look of panic on Conor's face.

"Dar, don't!" They won't honor any bargain made with you!" Conor knew he had to reason with Dar, but the man seemed to have made up his mind.

"Don't concern yourself, pup! I struck this bargain with the highest Roman authority on the island. They know the benefit of having friends among the tribes to put down rebellions like yours!"

"You spoke with Diana?" Conor knew the Queen well enough to know she would hold this bargain only as long as it either benefited or amused her. "Don't listen to her, Dar. She cannot be trusted!"

Again Dar laughed. "I do not know this Diana. Perhaps that is why your Confederation fails. You do not even know who is your enemy. I dealt with Gaius Cassius Longinus." With that, Dar had apparently had enough of the impromptu audience. "Take them to the pens we have prepared." Turning on his heel, he walled away, not bothering to see if his orders were followed.

Conor, Fergus, Caitlin and Tully were led through the remains of the village. The sights that greeted them were not for the faint-hearted. Fergus, seeing the burned buildings and the singed treed, couldn't help but think of his daughter, Molly. "_I hid in a tree. A peach tree_." She'd told him about the destruction of her village. She'd survived, but without the help of her long estranged father. Fergus knew he would never forgive himself for that.

None too gently, the four comrades were herded towards a small cage made of wooden stakes. Upon closer inspection, Conor realized it was two cages. A larger pen had been divided in two with a few extra planks of wood. The cages were sturdy and would not be easily broken. The division had been uneven. Conor could see one side of the cage was at least twice the size of the other, though neither could be considered large.

Dar reappeared, having come, no doubt, by a more direct route. The sight of the burned village had been meant to make the captives understand what had been lost.

Dar stood by the cages. "Oh, dear," he said in mock concern, "There doesn't seem to be enough room." He looked Conor over. "I had expected you to come alone or with one guard." He gestured towards the smaller side of the cage. "That was meant for you."

Conor could see that he would never have fit into that side of the cage. Of course, his comfort probably wasn't foremost in Dar's mind.

"I suppose we'll have to make some other arrangements." He motioned to his men who responded by forcing Tully and Fergus into the larger cage. Caitlin was shoved roughly into the smaller one. It was a struggle for Tully and Fergus to sit in the cage and not kick each other or bump into each other each time they shifted, and Caitlin was forced to bend awkwardly, sitting more on her hip than on her backside.

Once they were settled, Dar cast his eye about as if wondering what to do with Conor. Conor wasn't fooled. It was apparent the Chieftain had decided that to do with Conor before he had made it halfway to the village.

"Bring him here." Dar's command was filled with malice and contempt. Near to the cages a large stake, easily seven feet tall, had been erected. Dar's hands were bound together. The rope was then cast over through an iron ring near the top and anchored to a tree root several feet away. His arms held firmly above his head, Conor dangled there, his toes just brushing the ground. He knew Dar planned to leave him there through the night, and he knew it put an end to all thought of his escape. If her were successfully cut down, his muscles would be a knotted, cramped mass of pain. He'd be unable to run or to fight.

Conor knew his only chance was to be let down immediately. Summoning years of memories of his father and brother and how they commanded respect, he yelled defiantly. His voice sounded regal commanding even to his own ears. "I am Conor, Son of Derek, Brother of Aidan! By what right do you keep me here?"

For a moment, Dar seemed to waver, but just for a moment. Calling forth his own rage, Dar screamed back. "By what right do you bring the wrath of the Romans on me and mine? They would have come peacefully! They would have sought us as allies, in trade and in arms, had you not declared a holy war against them!"

Conor stared back at Dar, incredulous. "Is that what Longinus told you?" He shook his head sadly at the older man's naivete. "Rome does not come in peace! Even if they did, Longinus no longer represents Rome. He has his own agenda."

"Fine." Dar spat the word at Conor. "I will help him with his agenda, and he will make amends for what his men did while searching for you!" 

Fergus could hold his tongue no longer. HE rattled the wooden stakes that caged him. "Dar! You release him! D'ya hear me? Let him go! Longinus is not a man; he's a monster! He'll keep no bargains with you!" 

Dar ignoring Fergus, walked slowly to his own dwelling.

TBC


	5. Power and Pain

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting.

Sorry this took so long!

Transition

Part 5

Power and Pain

By Ecri

Longinus stared out the window of the Roman Fortress. The tower overlooked the sea, and sometimes just hearing the ocean crashing on the cliff, or breathing in the scent of the crisp, cold, salt air could be soothing. Sometimes, but not today. Today he felt only agitation. After weeks of riding, they would be setting out again tomorrow. Less than a day at the Fortress, and they would be on their way.

Longinus had hoped to find whatever hiding place the young Prince Conor was using. He and his band had to have somewhere to gosomewhere to call home. He wanted to find it and burn it to the ground in front of Conor. He would cause the boy to suffer. Longinus believed that Conor had an exquisite potential for suffering, and it was his plan to help him fulfill that potential.

Unfortunately, they had found nothing. They had had to burn other villages in hopes that the Chieftains would give them the information in exchange for the lives of their people. Longinus had been sure to tell all the Chieftains who'd lived through an encounter with him were told that Conor had been the cause of his suffering. Turn him over, he had told them, and we will make amends. Longinus could be very persuasive.

He had been pleasantly surprised that, upon their return, they'd been net by a messenger from one of the tribes they'd visited. Longinus recalled vividly the death and destruction in that particular hamlet. Apparently the clan chieftain had seen fit to believe everything Longinus had said. They had managed to capture Conor and a few of his cohorts. They wanted to make a deal, and Longinus would oblige. In just a few days, Conor would be his prisoner.

Diana carefully rerolled the scroll. She'd read it through twice. The request she'd made for reinforcements from Rome had been denied. She supposed she should feel flattered that Rome had bothered to respond at all. In a sudden fit, she slammed the scroll down on the table relishing the smallest of flinched the action elicited from the soldier who'd delivered it. Turning her attention to the man, she allowed her practiced eye to assess his appearance. He'd traveled all the way from Rome to deliver this message, and he'd been instructed to stay until she needed to send another message to Rome. She decided it would take quite some time for her to send anything back to Rome.

Just as Diana was about to reach out to the soldier, a familiar presence entered the room.

"Diana, whatever you are planning will have to wait," Longinus declared, walking in and helping himself to some wine from a pitcher on her table.

  
Diana did not hide her irritation. "Longinus, I ambusy."

Longinus gazed at the Roman soldier. "Leave us!" He barked. The soldier wasted no time following orders.

Diana's irritation turned to indignation. "Longinus, you have no right!"

He stepped toward her, and she seemed to shrink back a bit, fear dancing briefly through her eyes. Swallowing that, she raised her hand as if to strike him, but her arm stopped halfway through the motion. Anger turned to fright as she felt a strange sensation run through her body. Somehow, she could no longer control herself. Her mind screamed in panic as she tried to make her body obey her commands. She was doing as he wished. She knew it. She could control only her thoughts, and somehow, she was convinced that he could read them as easily as she'd just read the Emperor's scroll.

Her panic reached new bounds when she felt the automatic functions of her brain stopping. She had to concentrate to breathe, a most disconcerting sensation. Gasping for air, she felt herself being moved across the room and dropping into a chair. She felt her hand reach for the scroll on the table and lift it. She could not force so much as a tremble into her limbs.

Longinus was pleased that he was able to manipulate Diana so completely. He was playing games with her. Would they be fatal games? He did not know, but some part of him was watching his experiment with Diana with a clinical detachment. He read her thoughts and sorted through her pleas and demands that he stop. He decided to let her live, but first he had to try something.

Hating herself for being unable to fight, and despising Longinus for what he was doing, Diana's fear doubled when she felt the impossible. Her heart was slowing down. She could distinguish the beats. She felt her body go limp. She felt her life ebbing away. 

The dawn was a welcome sight to Caitlin. She passed the night in a numb fear. This had been the third dawn since they'd been captured. She had no idea if Dar intended to hand them over to the Romans alive, or if he would merely allow the Romans to take their heads away on pikes. She knew only that she or Tully had to find a way to escape. One of them had to return to the Sanctuary for help. She knew Fergus would not leave without Conor. Conor, even if he were able, would not leave anyone behind. She was more pragmatic. If she or Tully could get to the Sanctuary they could raise a raiding party to free everyone else. Besides, The River People knew where the Sanctuary was. She had no doubts Dar would give that information to the Romans. She couldn't bear the thought of the Romans killing or enslaving everyone. She had to warn them.

Caitlin glanced through the bars of her cage to Tully and Fergus. The men were anything but comfortable. There wasn't enough room in the cage for one of them, let alone both. She saw them stirring, trying not to kick each other, but the desire to stretch aching muscles was hard to deny. 

Fergus, finally awake, shook Tully. "You all right, lad?" You had a restless night."

"Yeah," Tully laughed. "And I'm sure you slept like a baby."

Caitlin joined in. "No, he was singing half the night!"

Fergus looked at the girl in mock irritation. "Singing keeps the spirits away."

As they talked, Caitlin tried to see if Conor was awake, but she was on the side of the cage farthest from him. She knew Fergus and Tully could see him clearly. "Is Conor all right? Is he awake?"

Fergus' features took on a grim expression. "Lass, I'm not even sure if he slept. He turned his attention to the lad. "Conor. Conor, are ye awake lad?" 

Conor had dozed in brief spurts through the night. He awakened each time he wanted to shift positions and could not. Yesterday had been warm and the night had been cool. The combination had given him a chill, cramps, and more aches than he cared to name.

Dar's men had not fed him nor offered him water. The other captives had gotten bread and water, and though Fergus tried to figure a way to get some to Conor, he had not found a way to do it. He's thought of tossing some bread for Conor to catch in his mouth, but when he'd suggested it, Conor had refused. Fergus had argued of course, so Conor had resorted to reason.

"Fergus, when we get out of this, I am going to need you whole. If they keep me like this for much longer, it's not likely I'll be able to walk, run, or ride when we do finally get out. I'll need your help then more than I need a few crumbs now.

Swallowing in a pointless attempt to get moisture from his dry mouth to his dryer throat, Conor answered his friends call in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "I'm awake." His voice was very low, surprising even himself.

Fergus didn't like what he heard. He saw Dar heading towards the cooking fires, probably to get himself his breakfast. He called out to their captor, hoping to get him to give Conor a bit of water. "Dar!" Fergus' voice demanded attention. 

Dar was forced to look in the direction of his prisoners. He just as quickly turned away. It would be unseemly for him to go when called by a captive. He calmly sat down and started to eat.

Fergus rattled the care, but when he did, he felt one of the bars give just a little. He glanced around to be sure no one had noticed. Then he motioned to Tully, who nodded in excitement. Together, they worked to loosen it further.

Conor raised his head to look at his friends. Figuring out what they were doing, he kept an eye out for anyone who might approach them. Soon, a young woman neared with water and bread for their breakfast. Conor called to Fergus to stop.

Quickly, Fergus and Tully stopped and positioned themselves to conceal their work. 

The girl with the food handed it between the bars to the captives. She had none for Conor. Fergus took his with one hand, and grabbed her wrist with the other. She gasped in surprise, but did not raise an alarm. He looked directly into her eyes. "Please, give something to Conor. Give him my share. Water at least." Fergus could see she was wavering. "Please," he whispered.

The girl nodded once, fear in her eyes. Fergus could understand. It was no easy thing to go against a chieftain's orders, especially to help a stranger she could well believe had been responsible for the destruction of her village. 

  
Checking over her shoulder to be sure that Dar was busy, she moved towards Conor. Looking down at his face, she was surprised to see the elements had done so much so quickly. He had looked so strong, so capable when he had arrived. Now, just three days later, he seemed weak and ill. She reached up to him and put a small cup to his lips. Reviving slightly when he realized what she offered, he tried to move towards it.

After just a few drops, he opened his eyes. "Thank you," he croaked weakly.

She smiled at him, and then she was gone.

The water seemed to have revived Conor's ability to think. He called to his friend, his voice slightly stronger. "Fergus?"

"I'm here, lad." Fergus was desperate to help the boy, but abandoned his work on the loose plank of the cage for fear that he would miss Conor's words.

"Fergus, if you find a way out, take it. Don't wait for me."

Sighing, Fergus went back to the bar.

"Fergus?" Conor called again, confused by the lack of response.

Aye, lad, I'm here."

"Did you hear what I said?"

Fergus let out a long world-weary sigh. "Conor, neither one of us has the strength for an argument right now. If I manage to get out of this cage, I'll discuss leaving you behind on the way home."

TBC


	6. Visions

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting.

I am really sorry for the delay. I've been working on a West Wing fic that kind of took all of my time. When writer's block took me away from that project, I returned to this one.

Transition

Part 6

Visions

By Ecri

The Sanctuary was busiest in the early hours of the morning. Dermot inhaled the aroma of the morning meals being cooked, savoring them and remembering that he planned to go hunting with Michael and Ronan today. A hearty breakfast was just what he needed.

Dermot was easily the tallest man in the Sanctuary. He generally had no trouble finding others or being found himself since he towered over virtually everyone. Today, however, heading towards the cooking fires and scanning the crowds, he could find neither Michael nor Ronan. Puzzled, he decided to walk the perimeter of the camp to search for his friends. After several minutes, he found them deep in conversation by Conor's hut. "Michael, Ronan!" He called. "We go this morning, don't we?"

Ronan looked up at Dermot. "We were just thinking of changing our plans." He hurried to continue before the bigger man could protest. "We think it odd that we have heard no word from Conor and the rest. They left days ago. Conor always sends word if things go well. If they went badly, he would have returned by now."

Michael continued, feeling uneasy. "We think the River People may have been less than truthful. Think on it. When is the last time you heard that they had changed their minds about anything?"

Before Dermot could express any opinion on the startling words of his friends, a voice called out for their attention.

"Here! Michael! A messenger from the Mountain People!" Ariana, who stood by the cooking fires, called to get their attention, gesturing to a lad of no more than 13 who was drinking deeply from the well.

Michael, Dermot, and Ronan raced to the boy's side. Michael knelt on one knee to look the boy in the eye. "What is it, lad? You can tell me." Michael hoped the boy wouldn't be stubborn like some messengers were and insist on seeing Conor. He needn't have worried. The boy's message concerned Conor.

"My tribe had gone to lend a hand to the River People when we learned of the Romans attack." There were a few gasps of fear and surprise from those gatheredsurprise that the Romans would hit a village so nearbyand fear that they were next. The boy continued. "A few advance scouts went to tell them that help was on the way. They found instead that the River People held Prince Conor, his champion and two others. They have been ransomed to the Romans."

When the boy paused for breath, a cacophony arose through the Sanctuary. The boy's words were repeated for those not close enough to hear. Several men were vowing to ride off and free Conor, others were too angry to know what to do. Michael called for silence several times. Looking at the boy, he knew he had to ask a question he was afraid to ask. They needed help. "Lad, I thank you and your people for the warning. Will the Mountain People stand with us?"

"I am to tell you that the Mountain People honor their agreement to join the Confederation of tribes. We stand ready." The boy nodded emphatically to emphasize his words.

Michael clapped him on the shoulder. "That is good news." Standing, he looked around wondering what he should do first. He was usually first to follow Conor or Fergus into battle. "Stand ready to fight. We leave soon." Michael led Dermot and Ronan away as the rest of the warriors broke off to gather their weapons and mounts. They had plans to make.

Diana, humiliated, angry, and somewhat dizzy, lay in her litter as it was carried trough the countryside. Longinus had insisted that she come along with him while he went to see the River People. River People! Why couldn't the people on this island come up with something to call themselves?

Longinus had told her about his plans as soon as he'd resurrected her. That was what he'd called it. She'd have used a much different description. She still could not fathom what he had done to her, or rather, how and why he had done it. He had claimed it was an experiment to see how far he could go. His powers, as he called them, had grown stronger since he had decided to destroy the world that Conor held dear. He claimed he was nearly a God.

She shivered, remembering how he had controlled her. He had seemed infinitely more insidious lately. She had told him he'd enjoyed torturing her. He'd smiled a small, sad smile. "Perhaps," he had said. "Perhaps I still have the capacity for enjoyment. I won't know until I control that Prince."

Diana knew it was well past midday. She doubted they would get to the village before dark. When they did reach the village, she wasn't sure she wanted to witness whatever Longinus had in mind for Conor. She believed that Longinus thought he would be able to control the boy for the rest of his days. Or maybe it was something worse. She considered what he might doforce the boy to do things he'd never do? Force him to kill or torture his friends? Longinus had only said that he wanted to see Conor suffer. Forcing him to live in a body he could no longer control was a sure way to see him do just that. 

Longinus had enjoyed the experiment he had inflicted on her. He had been overjoyed that it had been such an ordeal–and he had loved her once! She'd reminded him of that. 

"Yes. Once." He'd admitted. "But I no longer love. I hate."

If he had said that to her a few months ago. She'd not have believed him. She would have tried to seduce him. Now, however, she knew he was telling the truth, or as much truth as applied to him. She knew that Longinus had not resurrected her. Not all of her, at any rate. She could feel something was missing. Something vital. Some piece of her had truly died at Longinus' hand.

Conor felt the warmth of the afternoon sunlight. He tried to inhale, but his ribs ached. Small, shallow breaths were all he could manage, thanks in large part to his position hanging from a metal ring held fast to a sturdy stake kept his chest somewhat constricted. Of course, the fact that his robs were bruised, or possibly cracked, by the uncounted villagers who were encouraged to abuse Conor whenever they passed him did not help.

The River People had held them captive for 5 days now. They'd allowed Tully, Fergus, and Caitlin out of their cages a few times–mostly to help with some hard labor clearing out debris, gathering firewood. Fergus had asked Dar how he knew they wouldn't run. Dar had let loose a hearty laugh. "Because I hold your Prince!" Fergus couldn't deny the effectiveness of that method of persuasion.

Conor heard men laboring not far from him; building a dwelling or meeting hall, or something. He could hear Fergus being forced to carry something, with Conor's life hanging in the balance. It bothered Conor that he was being used to keep his friends in line. He wished they would try to escape.

Conor hadn't had anything to eat or drink in days. Fergus had tried to sneak him some water, but had been caught. Conor had been flogged for that transgression.

As he listened to the sounds of his friends laboring, he heard Fergus mutter a low "Sweet Brigid!" The words took him back. His mind wandered back to his days before the Romans had come. Before his family had been killed. He saw his father standing before him, holding his sword. It was the very sword Dar and his people had taken from him. "Da!" He called seeing a look of disappointment on his father's face. So often he'd disappointed his father. His father lowered his sword, and said something, but Conor couldn't make it out. "Da!" He called again, feebly. His throat was parched, almost swollen from lack of water. His skin burned red by the sun. His father faded from sight, and he could do nothing to stop him, just as he could do nothing to keep him from dying.

Conor blinked his eyes rapidly trying to will the image back to him. He tried to swallow, but he had no saliva. As he pondered his father's appearance, he saw another image swim into sudden clarity before him. This time, it was The Father–the seven-year-old Druid stood before him much as he had in his lifetime. His Long Druid robes fluttered in the breeze. When the Father spoke, he heard the voice, but it seemed to be in his head. "Conor," the boy said, "you shall not die yet. Your task is not done. You have much to accomplish, but you cling to much to some things to accomplish them." 

Before Conor could reply, the Father melted away reforming into

"Claire!" Conor shouted. The sudden strength in his voice surprising him almost as much as it did Fergus, who would have run to his side if guards had not restrained him. 

Conor was unaware of Fergus or, indeed, of Dar and the other River People who stood before him trying to discover if he was crazy or was pretending. He saw only Claire resplendent in dignity. Her white robes, golden curls, and sweet smile all as Conor remembered.

"Conor, my love," she called, sounding both sad and full of love for him. "You must let go. You have a life to lead. You have much to do. Let go of me. Let go of your past, your doubts. We will meet again in the next world. Let go"

  
Claire held out a hand to him but she stood too far away to touch him. Conor watched as the vision faded. "NO! Claire!" Conor's voice rang out, louder than before and stunning those who heard it. 

  
Fergus broke from his guards and rushed to his side, but could determine nothing before they reached him and dragged him away.

"Let me go!" The frustrated champion struggled with all his might, but with five men holding him and more coming to their aid, he could not fight. Defeated without the chance to defend himself and his friends, Fergus stopped struggling and allowed himself to be put in his cage where he spent the next few hours calling out to an unresponsive Conor. He stopped only because he fell asleep, passing out with Conor's name still on his lips.

TBC


	7. Fear

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I am making no money from this and really just write because the alternative is unthinkable.

Transition

Part 7

Fear

By Ecri

That evening, the River People had prepared a feast. Roasted meats, baked breads, anything they had, they prepared for the arrival of the Romans. Fergus stared at it all in disgust. They were preparing a welcoming banquet for the very people who had destroyed their village, "Daft old sods," he muttered.

Fergus, having little choice, had done what work they'd forced him to do. While they held Conor as they did, he saw no other options. He had continually asked Dar to release Conor, or at least to untie him, feed him, or give him water. Dar would not be persuaded or threatened. He claimed the Romans wanted Conor to suffer, so he would remain where he was until the Romans arrived and told Dar to do otherwise." The Romans will know that the River People truly want what Rome wants." Dar's declaration had irritated Fergus. "Daft old sod," he muttered again.

Now, locked in their cages, Fergus, Tully, and Caitlin could smell the roasting meat and the baked breads. They'd had nothing but bread and water for nearly five days, and the aromas were both tantalizing and agonizing.

Tully inhaled deeply. "Mmmm! Smell that! What I wouldn't do for a hunk of that meat!"

"Shhh!" Caitlin glared at Tully.

"What?"

"Conor's had less than you have! You don't hear him complaining." She tried unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of Conor. The flickering firelight and villagers milling about blocked her view.

"That's because Conor hasn't said a word in two days!" As soon as he'd said it, Tully regretted it. He turned to Fergus. "Is there anything we can do for him?"

Fergus shook his head. "No. Not from here. I tried to check on him when they had me gathering firewood, but they wouldn't let me stop and I couldn't tell if he was conscious." Fire blazed in his eyes–and not just the reflection of the cooking fires. "When I get my hands on Dar"

Tully nodded, cutting him off. "We'd all like a piece of him."

Caitlin had only paid minimal attention to the exchange having heard a disturbingly familiar sound. "Listen," she insisted, "The Romans are here."

Soldiers appeared from the surrounding mists. Fergus began to count. "More than they needed to send just for us."

Tully nodded, but Caitlin was busy scanning the arrivals for a familiar figure. "Longinus," she whispered when she spotted him.

"Where's Diana? She's never far from him." Tully couldn't spot the Roman Queen.

"There." Fergus nodded his head in the direction of a litter being carried by four soldiers. It had just been settled to the ground, and Diana eased her way out.

Tully, who'd been the most optimistic of the group, felt his resolve melt away. "If anyone has a last plan for escape, now would be a good time."

They watched Dar and Longinus talking, though they could not hear what was said. After several minutes, Dar directed Longinus towards his prisoners. Oddly, now that the Romans were finally here, Dar seemed less sure of how they'd react to his treatment of Conor and the others.

Longinus came slowly towards the cage. Taking a quick look, he saw that Conor was not there. He turned inquisitively towards Dar. "Your message claimed you held the prince. These three are of no use."

Dar nodded a quick sharp movement of his head as he fearfully protested Longinus' assumption. "This way. We've kept careful watch over your prize. Dar herded them towards Conor ordering torches brought to illuminate the field.

In the flickering torchlight, Conor looked haggard. His lips were parched and cracked. His exposed skin was red and burned from the sun. His clothes were torn and spattered with blood from wounds received when several of Dar's men had taken out their frustrations on his limp, hanging form. His eyes were closed, so it was impossible to tell if he slept or was unconscious from his injuries.

Longinus looked at the motionless body before him and started to snicker. It grew from a chuckle into a full-throated laugh before he was through.

His laughter was like a spark to the tinder of Fergus' anger. "Longinus, you have him released! D'ya hear me?" 

Longinus no doubt heard, but he and Dar headed back to the celebration feast. "We will take him tomorrow." Longinus decreed, in finer spirits than Diana had ever seen him.

Diana looked back to the cage at Fergus, who still shook in rage; at Tully, afraid, but willing to put that aside to stand an fight if necessary; and at Caitlin, who, to Diana's surprise, met her eyes with an intense stare and an anger so deep, Diana almost flinched. Diana hurried after Longinus, preferring even his company to seeing herself through the eyes of her former slave.

**

After midnight, the feast over and the guards posted, Fergus stared into the dark night sky. The moon was the smallest of crescents, and even that was periodically hidden behind passing clouds. Fergus had tried to call to Conor, but the boy seemed unable to answer.

As Fergus fretted over Conor's declining condition, he drifted off to sleep, hoping the morning would present a better chance at escape. He never heard the rustle of cloth and the softest of footsteps as Longinus crept from his tent. Longinus intended to talk to Conor. He knew not whether he desired simply to gloat or to explain in detail what he planned to do to the boy and all that he held dear.

Conor was awake when Longinus reached him. He had dozed off and on all day. He was groggy and weak from lack of food, water, and proper sleep. His arms ached incessantly and the pain shot down his back. He had given up struggling to find a way to alleviate some of the pain. He rarely answered Fergus' calls. As he faded in and out of consciousness, he could barely call to mind a time when he had not been imprisoned like this. Every other memory he had seemed unreal and dreamlike.

Longinus peered into Conor's eyes, and noted how the boy became aware of his presence. "You have begun to know what suffering is." Longinus declared. 

Conor stiffened slightly wishing the monster before him would disappear. 

"You can feel it now in every pore." Longinus leaned closer whispering his words in a soft, evil caress that chilled Conor's blood and bones. "You, boy, should beg for mercy now. I might listen."

Conor inhaled deeply, ignoring the searing pain that lanced through his muscles as he did so. He welcomed the pain almost as much as the cool night air. Both seemed to clear his head. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments to gather his strength. Then he spat in Longinus' face.

As Longinus wiped the offending matter away, Conor swallowed hard and spoke consciously and deliberately for the first time in days. "You killed the Father." His voice was low, and cracked as he spoke, but this seemed only to lend his words an edge of menace. "You don't belong on this island. "You don't respect the Land. Leave now!"

Longinus was incredulous. This boy, this _pup_, as Dar had called him, stung up on a stake for days, half-starved, half-mad with thirst and pain and he handed out ultimatums as if he were the sovereign of the entire island! This was insanity!

Longinus moved so that his face was mere inches from Conor's. "You listen to me, boy. I go where I please. I do what I please. I owe allegiance to none. Not you. Not the Romans. Not your God. Not your pagan deities. Not your _land_." Longinus' eyes darted quickly across Conor's face daring him to speak. "You will regret the day you didn't kill me. You had the opportunity. I" he stopped himself. He had been about to say that he had begged Conor, pleaded with Conor to end his life, but that would not do. He would not remind Conor that the child had had power over him, however briefly. 

Longinus straightened and took a minute step back. "The Father died well. He was defenseless and he knew it. He embraced death easily when I took his life."

Conor squeezed his eyes shut against the visions Longinus was creating in his mind, but Longinus would have none of that. The Ancient Roman's long graceful fingers seized Conor's chin and held him fast. Conor opened his eyes in alarm at the pressure, ignorantly giving Longinus his opening. Longinus stared deep into those intense, young, blue eyes, willing himself to take what he wanted, what he needed.

In a moment, Conor could feel that something strange was happening. He could not close his eyes. He could not control himself. He could feel odd things at irregular intervals, like the muscles in his left arm contracting and stretching, but not at his command. His right leg bent back at the knee and he found himself kicking the ground with whatever little strength he still had.

In horror, Conor realized that Longinus was doing this. He did not know how the monster had claimed mastery of his body, but he knew it without a doubt. He tried to struggle, Longinus' will, the ropes, and his own weakness held him stationary. He tried to scream, but he was parched. His throat was swollen from lack of water, and, if that were not enough, he could feel Longinus somehow clawing and squeezing at his own vocal cords.

Fear gripped Conor's heart; fear like that which he'd felt when he'd realized his family was dead. Fear like that which he'd known when he saw Claire die for him, knowing he was not worthy of such a sacrifice, yet powerless to stop it. Fear like the fear that had gripped his heart when he'd realized the Father's life was in danger.

Longinus tasted his fear and savored it. Filled with triumph and elation, he broke his connection to the boy. His own eyes still held Conor's and the fear he saw on the boy's face gladdened whatever shriveled mass of muscle passed for his heart. "You are learning, boy, and you will know what it means to suffer." With that, he turned, gliding soundlessly to his tent. His excitement was palpable. This boy had once held the Spear of Destiny in his hands, and now he was a slave to Longius' every whim. Tomorrow would be a good day.

After Longinus had left, Conor's eyes remained wide. Realizing he had control of himself once again, Conor shut his eyes tight, and though he longed for the release of either sleep or tears, neither would come.

TBC


	8. Fight for Freedom

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I am making no money from this and really just write because the alternative is unthinkable.

NOTE: Dryad Dray, thanks for the review. It was your pleasure at seeing my update that prompted me to write again so soon.

Transition

Part 8

Fight for Freedom

By Ecri

Dawn was still several hours away when Fergus found himself fully awake and alert having somehow sensed that something was about to happen. Fergus set to work quickly worrying the loose plank of the cage he shared with Tully. He made slow progress as he had little to work with but brute strength and patience, and, with Conor hurt, his patience had worn thin. 

Once, while he worked, he thought he heard Conor make a sound. He tried calling to the lad, but was unable to get him to respond. "It's all right, lad." He whispered. "I'll be out o'here soon, and we'll get you looked at."

When sky began to grow rosy, he nudged Tully, who nudged Caitlin, showing them the progress he'd made. Tully was less than thrilled. "Fine, but with the Romans here there are three times the soldiers that were here yesterday. What can we do against that?"

Fergus doggedly continued working on the plank. "I don't know, but I'm not letting that monster take Conor back to his dungeons."

Neither Tully, nor Caitlin doubted the veracity of Fergus' statement, but they worried how he intended to do it. 

Finally, Fergus pulled the loose plank free. A smile spread across his face as he held it out triumphantly.

Caitlin stared at the plank "Fergus," Her voice was low and gentle. "What are you planning? Can you squeeze out of here through that small opening?"

Tully grinned, interrupting Fergus before he could reply. "No, he can't, but I can." Noting their looks of doubt and disbelief, his grin grew bigger. "Trust me. I've been practicing contortionism."

Caitlin was confused. "What?" 

Tully moved over to the gap. Sweet freedom was only about a foot wide. "Making yourself smallermaking yourself fit into small places."

  
As he spoke, he wriggled and pushed feeling the rough wood scratch his skin. In moments, he was out. Wasting no time in celebration, Tully examined the doors to the cages. They were secured with a rope tied above the prisoners' heads to a hanging tree limb. Carefully, he untied the knot, slid the rope back through the planks, and easily swung the gates open.

  
Fergus moved quickly and stealthily to Conor's side. "Conor?" he whispered. Caitlin and Tully were already working on the robes that held him secure. "Conor, lad, are ye awake?"

Conor's eyes fluttered open. He could not speak through parched, cracked lips, nor could he move on his own. Words, however, were unnecessary. His joy and surprise at seeing Fergus by his side were evident.

"Quiet, lad. Don't try to speak. We're going to get you out of here." Just then, Caitlin and Tully got the rope loose and lowered Conor's arms. He inhaled sharply at the pain as muscles, accustomed after long days of being held in place above his head, were forces into another position. "It's just as well you can't speak, boy. The yell you'd have given just then woulda been the end of us for sure.

Each move of each muscle sent waves of agony through Conor's limbs as blood renewed its circulation. Fergus, realizing what it was costing Conor to be conscious and standing, scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder.

Caitlin and Tully had already found their weapons, which had been stored in a tent near their prison. Together, with Caitlin and Tully staying alert for approaching villagers or soldiers, and with Fergus carrying Conor, the foursome made their way cautiously through the village. Fergus wanted to get Conor under cover quickly, but he knew he would have to come back for their horses. They would never outrun the Romans on foot.

Loud, piercing, and purely terrifying, a battle cry rang through the village. Fergus glanced around expecting to see Dar's people pursuing them, but the cry seemed to come from the wrong direction.

"Sweet Brigid!" Fergus shouted in joy. Running, riding, fully armed, there were at least several dozen warriors from the Sanctuary. As they rode, he recognized more from other tribes that had joined Conor's Confederation. They'd come to save Conor. He moved more quickly, hoping to reach them before Dar, the villagers, and the Romans were roused to fighting form.

As he ran, a sense of foreboding washed over Fergus. Just in front of him, from between two tents, Fergus saw a figure moving. Robes. Long hair. Longinus!

Fergus could either stop or push past the monster. For the life of him, he could not decide which was best. He stopped. Caitlin and Tully pulled up short next to him. The battle between the Confederation and Dar's people, peppered with Romans attempting to protect Diana and Longinus, was reaching a fevered pitch. Arrows flew in all directions. Swords slashed and clanged. Warriors cried out in rage, pain, and frustration. Yet Fergus stood stock-still staring at Longinus as if they were alone. Longinus stepped forward until he was but a few feet from Fergus and the half-conscious Conor. Through half-closed eyes, Conor saw Longinus, and, lacking the strength to do much else, he groaned.

Longinus' attention was drawn to that groan as a hunter's attention was drawn to a stray movement in a still forest. Drawing back the hood that partially covered his head, Longinus' eyes widened in anticipation as they locked on Conor's. 

Conor slowly closed his eyes. Not sure if it would help, he filled his mind with thoughts, and his mind's eye with visions trying desperately to block out his growing awareness of Longinus. He prayed with all his might that Fergus would run.

Longinus raised one hand towards the Prince's head. He had to force the boy's eyes open if he were to have control. That was all that mattered. That was all he could see.

Fergus took a step back, then two steps, keeping Conor just out of the Roman wizard's grasp.

Aware that his prey was getting away from him, Longinus allowed himself to notice Fergus. Wizard and Warrior stared into each other's eyes. Fergus felt his pulse quicken. Something strange was happening to him and he had no idea how to stop it. He tried to step back again, but found he was unable to control his limbs. In horror, he stood still as Longinus again came towards him, towards Conor. Fergus saw nothing but Longinus' hate-filled eyes as he began to lower Conor to the ground.

TBC


	9. Battle Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I am making no money from this and really just write because the alternative is unthinkable.

NOTE: Dryad Dray and Mady Bay thanks for the reviews. It's nice to know I'm not the only one reading this!

Transition

Part 9

Battle Cry

By Ecri

Dermot swung his sword to block a villager's attack. The clang of the metal was lost in the din of the battle. The man backed away, as Dermot, taller by at least a foot, pushed him back. The man swung in desperation, hoping to get the barbarian giant away from him, but he could not. Tripping over a tree root in his haste, he found himself sprawled at Dermot's feet and waited for the killing blow.   


When the giant took a step towards him, the soldier thrust his sword forward intending to take his opponent in the gut. Dermot expected the move and as he stepped forward he also stepped to the left. The enemy sword hit empty air, and as he fell forward, carried by the momentum, Dermot hit him over the head with the pommel of his own weapon.

In moments, Dermot raced to join the fray. 

Ronan and Michael stood back to back defending themselves as well as they could. Ronan, who'd always hated the field practices that Conor forced on them, now saw the wisdom in it, and vowed never to complain again as a villager rushed at him swinging a club. Ronan swatted it away with his sword and swung back in a swift, smooth motion catching the man in the right forearm with his sword. Blood sprayed forward, but Ronan barely noticed as he swung at another warrior who seemed to be getting the better of Michael.

Michael had no sword. He fought with bow, arrow, and knife. As the villager approached him again, he thrust with his knife, but almost lost his grip on it as the man caught Michael's knife on his own blade and twisted it out of his grasp. Michael scrambled back a bit, trying to give himself the space to draw his spare blade, when a blur of motion seemed to materialize between him and the soldier, driving the enemy away with a swing of his blade and a fierce battle cry, which echoed all around them.

"Fergus?" Caitlin and Tully called to their friend. Caitlin fit an arrow to her bow and aimed at Longinus. Though she knew she could not kill him, she might be able to distract him.

"Fergus! No! Run! 

Tully's voice conveyed such urgency, it seemed to pierce the pain and fear that were all Conor had known for days. He swallowed once, twice, and finally managed to get sound out of his tortured throat. "FergusI need you" He could say no more. What little he'd managed had been the barest of whispers, and it had exhausted him. His head fell back against Fergus' shoulder, and he lost consciousness.

Caitlin fell to the ground as something solid collided with her. Realizing it was Tully, her anger turned to gratitude when she realized he had pushed her out of the way of several advancing soldiers. She and Tully launched into defensive positions, hoping Fergus would wake from whatever dream held him and run.

Dermot found Stephen fighting several of Dar's men. The trio of River People had nearly overwhelmed his friend when Dermot leaped into the fight drawing their attention and their blows. Stephen, able to recover from the onslaught, attacked where before he'd been retreating. 

Stephen raised his sword in both hands, swinging it down and forward unbalancing his opponent. The other man stepped back, stumbled, but righted himself. The clang and clash of the swords combined with the battle cry of the Sanctuary dwellers gave them a temporary advantage as the River People were overwhelmed by the coordinated attack of the Mountain People and the Sanctuary dwellers.

The Romans were the wild card here. Stephen saw that some were fighting, but many stood huddled around what Stephen realized was a small group of people. He peered at the knot of people and recognized Tully, Caitlin, and Fergus. He motioned for Dermot to look. The taller man nodded, incapacitated his foe, and followed his friend.

Fergus battled the Roman Monster. Somehow, he heard the evil man's voice in his head, commanding him to lay his friend on the ground. Gripped by an undeniable urge to obey, Fergus wondered what sort of magic the immortal demon possessed. Then, he heard Conor's words–a plea for help from the boy, no, from the man he'd pledged his life to defend. He knew he had to get Conor away from here. He would not fail the lad again. Fergus, eyes still locked on Longinus, began to sing. Low, at first, then growing, his voice soon filled the air. Deep, commanding, melodic, his voice soared above the battle. He sang of the green hills of his island. He sang of loyalty and of family. He sang of friends dear and departed as well as dear and near. He sang of the trees. He sang of the ocean. He sang of The Land.

Each word was stronger than the last. Each note stronger, more precise. Somehow, those sounds those notes, brought back his strength and resolve. He sang directly to Longinus, willing his words into that dark demon heart. He told the monster to beware. He told it that it would not get his prince while he could prevent it. He told Longinus that while he drew breath and well into the afterlife, he would safeguard this boy, this young man, this, the hope of the island. His legs found strength as he sang. Taking several steps away from the Roman, Fergus soon found himself surrounded by friends. Recognizing Dermot and Stephen as the two shouldered past him, already swinging their blades, Fergus finally broke into a run. Making it to a clearing, Fergus whirled around as Ronan and Michael approached. Not wasting time on pleasantries, Fergus demanded horses.

"I'm taking him home, lads. Don't take too long with the likes if these." With that, Fergus galloped off, riding harder than he should with an injured man, he brought Conor back to the Sanctuary.

TBC 


	10. Battle Won, War Begun

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I am making no money from this and really just write because the alternative is unthinkable.

NOTE: Forgive the interminable delay in getting this posted. My West Wing muse was monopolizing my time. It's still clamoring for attention, so I thought I would try to get this out while it wasn't looking.

Transition

Part 10

Battle Won, War Begun

By Ecri

Diana sat in her litter as it was carried away from battle. The clang of swords, the shouts and cries of dying men made a nightmare of the ride. Longinus was sure to be angered at having come so close to possessing that boy prince. She herself would have been glad to make slaves of the lot of them. How better to humiliate these barbarians than to make their self-proclaimed leader a slave? Even as she thought this, she wondered if turning Conor into a slave would make a martyr of him as surely as killing him would. That they could not afford. Rome was already furious with her that she still requested troops and provisions and could not claim to have won the island.

She blamed Longinus for the continued failure for she could see now that he had always had his own agenda. He had, at first, been searching for that cursed spear. Now, he held these people, and Conor specifically, responsible for his continued life. She could not understand what was so bad about an immortal life. She'd long hoped it was a secret Longinus would be willing to share. Queen Diana, the Immortal. She played with the title in her mind, losing herself in the possibilities it presented.

The litter inexplicably stopped. By the sounds, she knew they were still too close to the battle. The curtain to her right was drawn back revealing Longinus, now astride a horse. 

"Come now, Queen. We ride." He reached out for her hand and pulled her roughly onto the back of his horse.

Diana held on for dear life, wondering if she should be more concerned about where the ancient Roman was taking her, or why he was taking her.

***

Ronan and Michael rejoined the battle, viciously attacking any Roman that looked as if he were even thinking of following Fergus. It seemed only a short time later that they heard Dermot give the signal to break off the fight and return to The Sanctuary. They broke into a run, catching up to their friend where he stood by a tree holding horses for them.

Ronan eyes one horse suspiciously. "That looks like a Roman horse."

  
Dermot shrugged. "His rider won't need him anymore." He gestured back towards the battleground, which was growing more and more silent by the moment. "The Romans retreat. They do not even try to follow!" His excitement at their victory gave way to concern as he heard a voice call out to them.

Caitlin reigned her horse to stop in front of the trio. "Did Fergus get away?"

"Aye, that he did. He rode off with Conor some time ago. They must be back to the Sanctuary by now." Michael gestured in the direction of home.

Caitlin nodded, and, without another word, urged her horse into a gallop wanting nothing more than to catch up with her companions.

**

Diana and Longinus rode for a long time, galloping at such a speed that Diana was sure she'd fall from the swift steed. The landscape went by in a blur, but even had it not, Diana was sure she would never have recognized where they were heading anyway. The entire island seemed to be no more than trees, rocks, streams, and hills to her.

Longinus stopped the horse as abruptly as he'd stopped the litter. He dismounted, leaving her where she sat. Taking in her surroundings, Diana could see no point to their ride. "Longinus." She called to him, but his attention was not on her. "Longinus!" Her voice grew louder as her patience thinned. "Where are we? Why did you bring us here?" She slid from the horse's back and stood before him.

Longinus, an expression of infinite world-weary loneliness on his features, allowed himself to see Diana. He pointed to a cave to the Queen's right. "There!" He pushed her towards the mouth of the cave. He continued pushing her every few feet, ignoring her demands that he stop and explain himself until they stood in a cavern. It was eerily lit with a cross behind a stone pedestal. The chamber seemed to hold a chill aeons old. Torches still burned in sconces on the wall, as if only recently lit, but, Diana sensed, no mortal hand had lit them. 

Longinus grabbed a torch and flung it to the ground. It did not go out, but lay sputtering in the dirt. 

Diana took a step backward. The torches, the chill, and the eerie, otherworldly feel of this chamber terrified, as, she realized, did Longinus. She fixed her wide, fear-filled eyes on him, and spoke in hushed tones. "Longinus, what is this place?"

Longinus turned to face her, hatred burning in his face. "Can't you guess, Diana?" He took a few steps toward her, but she stepped back keeping the distance between them. "You're a smart woman. Can't you?"

She refused to speak.

  
"No?" He laughed a humorless laugh. "This, Diana, is where it happened. He pointed at the stone steps that led to the pedestal. "I lay right there, _begging_." He said that last word bitterly, harshly, as if it were responsible for his predicament. "He would not kill me, though I pleaded, though I begged. God alone knows what he did with the Spear."

  
She stepped towards him now, thinking to reason with him. "Longinus, we may yet find the Spear ourselves. Conor didn't keep it. If he has hidden it, we can make him tell us where it is"

He sneered at her, momentarily, then, his expression changed. His eyes remained hard and cruel, but his face was expressionless, almost slack. "No. I came here only to remind myself that this prince has denied me my one chance to die. He has probably destroyed the Spear." He looked up at the great stone cross. Regret flashed in his eyes, but was gone before Diana noticed it. 

As he stared at the cross, she heard the words he whispered, and her very soul quaked with fear.

"I will make him suffer," he vowed. "I will destroy this island and let him live to see it burn. Longinus imagined, in great detail, what he would do and how Conor would react when he was done. He wanted to show the vision to Conor, to be there and watch him as he saw his friends, his life, his land engulfed in flames. Then, Longinus began to laugh, a hollow mirthless sound that chilled Diana to the marrow of her bones.

Conor awakened to find himself in familiar surroundings. The Sanctuary. His own dwelling. Fergus sat by his bed staring expectantly into the lad's half-opened eyes. 

"Fergus?" He was surprised to find it a little easier to speak now than it had been back at Dar's village. He moved slightly to take his friend's hand. It pained him to do so, and he winced from the effort it took to force his muscles into what should have been an unconscious movement. Still, just the ability to move at all was enough to bring a smile to his lips.

"Conor," Fergus' delight at seeing Conor awake was apparent. A grin split his face from ear to ear and his eyes twinkled with glee. "How are you, lad?" His concern had not lessened just because the boy could open his eyes. He had seen the effort it cost his prince to speak and to move his arm. Conor would be a while longer recovering.

Conor, as usual, had thoughts other than his own well being. "What happened?" His brow furrowed as he tried to force memories that were not there. "I remember you singingthat's all."

Fergus laughed. "I'm surprised you remember that much!"

Sudden concern forced Conor's body upright, and the pain it caused made him cry out. Fergus stood and gently lowered him again to the bed. "Caitlin...Tully" He said no more, afraid to ask the question because he so feared the answer.

"They're fine, lad." Fergus' voice had dropped to the softest of whispers. It was an old trick he'd mastered early in his life. He had told tales round the campfire long enough to know that Conor would be forced to lie very still in order to catch every word. "Rest now. Everyone's right where they should be."

Fergus was gratified that Conor actually closed his eyes and seemed to drop off to sleep almost immediately. Covering him with a blanket, Fergus left Conor's chamber with a stealth and grace that belied his size and profession.

Once outside, Fergus' face turned hard, unforgiving, and stony. He had nearly failed again. Those sods had nearly killed Conor. He would never allow anyone come so close to taking the boy's life again. He'd vowed to protect Conor, and that was a vow he held more precious than even his own life. From this point on, woe to the man who even looked threateningly in Conor's direction. Unconscious of it, Fergus' hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

Caitlin and Tully, seeing Fergus leave Conor's chamber, ran to his side. Conor had been asleep for days, and the pair had grown more and more concerned that he might never awaken. "How is he?" Caitlin's eyes betrayed a moment of fear and deep concern for her injured friend.

Fergus gently touched her shoulder. "He's resting. I think he'll be fine." No sooner had he spoken those words, than a startled scream and a loud thud met their ears. In a moment, the trio was racing for Conor's chambers.

Conor had fallen out of bed, blanket tangled around his legs. His struggles lessened as the movements proved too much for his aching muscles.

Fergus helped Conor up to bed. By now, the young man had realized he'd been dreaming, but the reality of it clung to him making him doubt he was yet awake. 

"What was it, lad?" Fergus, having known the prince since he was a child, had certainly seen him on the throes of nightmares. In all of those dreams, even in the recent ones since the death of his family and Claire, never had Fergus heard him cry out like this. 

Conor slowly settled himself onto the bed. "It was nothing. A dream. That's all."

Unwilling to accept that answer, Fergus urged he boy to tell him more. When he refused, Caitlin found something to say about it. "Conor, let us help you. I have heard screams like that before, from the Roman's slaves. Tell us what you dream."

Tully nodded. "Galen once told me that if you don't give voice to your fears, they'll gain strength and power until they control you."

Conor looked at each of his friends, instinctively knowing they would not leave him alone until he answered them. Reluctantly, he described the images that had awakened him. "The landthe hills were aflame. The rivers and seas boiled. The trees were torches lighting up the night sky. People were on firesome running. There was no way to escape, and nothing I could do to help." He paused, not really wanting to continue, but Fergus raised an eyebrow, and that was all it took. "The worst part was" For a moment, it seemed he would not, could not continue. Then he pressed on, words tumbling to escape as though in a hurry to escape his mouth before his courage faltered and they were swallowed down, dark and silent. "The worst part was that, above it all, I saw Longinus. He had caused it all. He did it to hurt me. He was laughing as if it were some kind of joke." Fear fled from his face, surpassed by determination, anger, and conviction. "I cannot let him. I will not let him destroy everything just because he hates me!"

"Conor, it was a dream." Caitlin's whisper caught his attention more surely than a shout would have.

"I hope you're right." Somehow, hearing the echo of that laughter in the back of his mind, he knew there was at least a chance that Caitlin was wrong.

**

  
Weeks later, the stiffness all but gone, Conor walked to the practice field where Fergus was already leading the warriors through their drills. Conor had been proud of them when he'd learned how they'd attacked the River People and the Romans. They'd gotten away clean. IT was an amazing thought that these men and women from tribes all over the island were learning to fight side by side instead of against each other. He saw Dermot help Stephen up after the mad stumbled. Dermot's attitude had changed since they'd rescued Conor. He was less aggressive with his friends, yet, from what Conor had been told, he'd fought like a man possessed. He had even attacked the Romans who had been guarding Longinus' litter. Longinus had last been seen galloping away with Diana perched behind him.

  
He brushed aside thoughts of the Roman Queen and her ancient companion. For the first time, Conor thought there was a chance. If other tribes learned of how they'd defeated the Romans, they might decide to join the Confederation of Tribe after all. United, they could defeat the Roman Army. He was sure of that, for no one fought more ferociously or more determinedly than the Tribes once they found a foe.

He inhaled, happy that he could finally breathe deeply. He'd been told that his ribs were healing. His body felt much better, if a little out of shape from lack of activity. He stood a moment before joining his people on the practice field. They fought like soldiers with a victory behind them. They fought well. For brief moment, he imagined the field, warriors and all, engulfed in flame, but he shook it off. Longinus, even if only in a dream or vision would not defeat him. Whatever it was, Conor was sure, at most, it was only a possibility.

  
The reality was here and now. The land was not burned. It was alive. The land was green and lovely, with beautiful rivers and streams carrying life across it. The land was vibrant, verdant, and victorious. He was only hear to keep it so. He allowed himself a small smile as he strode toward Fergus. He'd defend the land with his life; the land, these people, his family. That was what they all were now. 

  
The End


End file.
